


Elements of Emotion

by Racethewind_10



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-17 15:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4671536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racethewind_10/pseuds/Racethewind_10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t as though JJ intended to create her own answer to those ancient philosophers, but somewhere along the way - between college and her current case load, between late nights studying case files and later nights staring at the ceiling as her brain refused to let her sleep - JJ formed her own ideas about the elements that made up emotion and action, the composition of human hearts and souls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fear

A young Jennifer Jareau learned - long ago in one of those lessons that doesn't appear particularly noteworthy at first glance but comes back unbidden at the oddest of times in one's life - that the philosophers of old believed everything in the physical world was made from four elements: earth, air, fire and water, with a fifth element – idea – comprising those things not physical. It was combinations of these elements that gave each thing, living or not, its form. According to the teacher, these elements were believed to be what made the whole of the natural world; people, animals "and everything."

JJ remembers little more than that single fact. She remembers that the class spent some time discussing the combinations of certain elements and what they created, but mostly she remembers a sense of frustration at the concept of 'idea.' Even to her young mind, it seemed such an inadequate label for the myriad of complex, shifting and often turbulent emotions that created the landscape of the human psyche.

The small blonde sitting in the classroom with a tiny frown marring her porcelain features however, had no such words to describe why she thought the ancient philosophers were wrong, she just knew there was more to 'emotions and stuff' than 'ideas.'

In the way of young children with mildly troubling ideas, however, JJ eventually pushed it to the back of her mind where it lingered forgotten and buried, but not eradicated. Like a message bottle, it bobbed calmly on the outer seas of her memory, washing onto her awareness unexpectedly, swept by the currents of her unconscious to which the dictates and directions of logic are unknown.

It wasn’t as though JJ _intended_ to create her own answer to those ancient philosophers, but somewhere along the way - between college and her current case load, between late nights studying case files and later nights staring at the ceiling as her brain refused to let her sleep - JJ formed her own ideas about the elements that made up emotion and action, the composition of human hearts and souls.

They were simple at first: love, hate, anger and happiness. As time wore on, and JJ grew up however, she found flaw with these conceptualizations. College, the Academy, her work at the Bureau and finally, her work with the BAU all acted as catalysts, transforming the way she viewed the world. Each experience, each person and eventually, each case became pieces in the mosaic of her understanding, leading her ultimately to the classification of four of her own "elements."

 

* * *

Jennifer Jareau firmly believes that Roosevelt had been full of crap. There’s a lot more out there to fear, than Fear itself. People spend their entire lives afraid of one thing or another, and commit terrible acts because of it. So much of the grief and pain the blonde agent sees every day could be attributed at least in part to fear. The fear of failure, the fear of being alone, the fear of loss and pain and humiliation, the fear of others, of one's self; these were the things that dig at people. Sometimes stealthy, sometimes screaming, they push and whisper and undermine, until sometimes, inside some people,  _something_  gives way.

The person may have destroyed themselves or others by the time the team arrives at the scene but the fear itself remains, its cruel hand displayed for all to see, a language written in crimson splatters and reflected in the eternal clouds of lifeless eyes.

And yet, fear's power isn’t limited to destruction. Fear is one of the oldest of all instincts; it told humanity's ancestors to run away and survive for one more day. It hones senses and keeps reaction times quick. Fear can be a powerful ally if a person is strong enough to use it and not be overcome by it.

Despite her job, JJ doesn’t fear injury or death. At least, she doesn’t fear any more than dictated by the natural desire of a rational being to avoid such things. She accepts that as the price she might one day have to pay and considers it small in comparison to the reward of saving lives.

No, the form JJ's fear takes is far more subtle. It isn't the jangling, adrenaline laced shock of panic, or the anger colored vice of terror. It doesn’t haunt her nightmares or shadow her smile. It’s amorphous – the briefest touch of a cold breeze, present but always  _just_ beyond her grasp.

JJ’s known this fear almost all her life – even as a child – though she didn’t understand it at the time. Like a malicious rumor whispered in spite, it lingers at the back of her mind, pushed away and forgotten at times, but never disappearing completely. Because what JJ fears most is being silenced. She fears being nothing, no one – simply content to watch the world go by outside her window as the rut of her life grows ever deeper. She fears being taken for granted and dismissed, servant to other's conceptions and visions of her until who  _she_ is – that fragile, tentative sense of self and place that she’s built, year by year – vanishes beneath the perceptions and desires of those around her.

Exactly when this fear first whispered to her, JJ no longer remembers, it’s just always been there, always different than the simple unease of the forest beyond her childhood town or the wariness of Uncle Bobby's drunken temper. Raised in a place where excellence was frowned on and seen as 'showing off,' where people lived their entire lives within the dusty boundaries of a single town and prided themselves on it, where the desire to fit in was almost a physical constraint, JJ looked around – at her parents, at her friends, at the cracked and faded dreams and colorless lives – and she knew fear.

Her one hope had been sports. It was accepted to be good at them, and when a young JJ used her hard won soccer scholarship to go to university and get the hell out of her home town, it was too late for anyone to say anything about it. Her parents supported her in the sort of vague, tentative way of people who can't think of a reason to actively oppose something, but have no context for understanding it.

To this day, when JJ visits the town she was raised, she feels out of place, wrong – like she’s trying to wear clothes tailored for someone else and it makes her very skin feel tight and confining. Returning home means stepping through an invisible door, on the other side of which are all the people she knew as a child who have no ability to understand who she became as an adult, and so they try to force her into a box with a label on it – something they can relate to, something they can put in its place, neat and tidy. Except the box is too small, and something in her screams in outrage at the imprisonment. All the tiny pointed questions and the knowing glances, the voices oh so cleverly snide, the hints and innuendoes, they lash at her like silent, hidden knives, cutting until the very thought of spending too much time visiting her family leaves JJ flinching like a headshy horse; unable after years of harsh treatment to react any other way.

A different person might have let this fear take hold, might have lent it power with their doubts and failures and the words of others.

JJ does no such thing.

For JJ, fear becomes a goad that she grips tight, throws into the fire of her will and tempers, hardening it until that fear becomes a tool – a weapon. Razor sharp, it lies dormant until she acknowledges it, and then with lessons learned from long and painful practice, she uses it.

She uses that fear to get stellar grades in college, to apply to the FBI, to work late into the night when other, more senior agents have gone home, to accept Aaron Hotchner's request for help on a case and his eventual job offer. People praise her determination, her work ethic, her success but they understand the _why._ They see her moving forward but they don’t understand that every step on the path to her success is one taken _away,_ away from the quiet, dusty lives and faded desires of her childhood home, away from nothingness and being no one.

JJ is always trying to get away.

And although JJ is incredibly satisfied with her work and the role she plays in the BAU, even though she loves her team and considers them her family and her position within the Bureau is envied by many, even though that old fear has subsided over the years, it’s never been banished completely. There are still times it creeps up and whispers darkly in her ear like a spurned lover.

Because as much as her friends, her  _real_ family love her and appreciate her, there are still times when JJ feels no one truly sees  _her,_ and that everyone – the detectives who come to her for help, the press who hound her for questions, the team who rely on her to be their face and voice to the world – see only what they want or need to see, and nothing more, no _one_ more.

Everyone that is, except Emily. Quiet, elegant Emily Prentiss, whose addition to the BAU should have been uncomfortable, but is instead, like so much else about the woman, nearly effortless.

 Hotch asks JJ to bring the new agent up to speed and a tiny spark of resentment flares inside her before she can snuff it out with practiced professionalism.  Still, JJ is wary when she walks into that room, her old fear snapping at her heels, prepared to fight for her position, to demand not to be dismissed by this new person.

Those preparations come to nothing. There is an eagerness, an almost painful earnestness in Emily's manner when they shake hands (warm and steady, Emily has a good handshake, JJ notes, then forgets because it’s not important. Until it is).

JJ looks at Emily, at dark eyes that stare back at her from a pale face without flinching, and feels her fear retreat, unfounded. There’s no assumption in that dark gaze, no hardening of slim shoulders or arrogant tilt of her chin, just a smile that seems almost a little shy, a beautiful smile that makes JJ’s brain stutter just for an instant. Emily doesn’t challenge or dismiss, she just accepts.

Throughout that first briefing JJ keeps looking for some indication that it’s a tactic, a lie. She finds none.

Time passes and as it does, JJ finds herself seeking that dark gaze more and more. When she’s unsure, when a case becomes too frustrating or too painful, when she’s tired, when she has no excuse whatsoever but just wants to see Emily, and know that Emily sees her, JJ looks across a table, or a room, or over someone's shoulder and finds the recognition and silent, unwavering support she never knew she craved.

And then one day, not an extraordinary day but merely a day as any other, JJ realizes she’s no longer looking at Emily because she needs to see herself. Without fanfare or event and apparently without a fight, her fear has been vanquished, leaving only a tattered memory to mark its existence. Somewhere along the way, JJ starts looking at Emily because she seeks  _other_  things in those dark eyes – things that make her breath catch and her heart speed up, things that have nothing to do with fear, and everything to do with another, more powerful emotion.

TBC

 


	2. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But belief - subtle and intangible and occasionally terrible - is the foundation of hope, the greatest of all human emotions.

Belief is perhaps the most fickle and complicated of the elemental forces that JJ names – it can be either the most fleeting, or the least shakable.

JJ doesn’t consider herself particularly religious – growing up, she saw the Bible too often in connection with her drunken uncle's hands and learned to be wary of both. She never doubted however, the power of Belief – in a deity, an idea, or one's self. The power of another's belief could be the most tremendous force and to rescind it could shatter the foundations of a person. In contrast, the absence of that belief could cut like glass shards within a person's soul.

JJ bears living testament to that. Every time she goes home, it’s only to return with new wounds: tiny and unintended, but bleeding nonetheless. They fade and scar, but they never truly vanish.

But belief - subtle and intangible and occasionally terrible - is the foundation of hope, the greatest of all human emotions.

* * *

 

Once, when JJ was very young, a massive summer storm knocked out the electricity to her small town. The worst to sweep the region in years, it struck with a fierceness that had seemed to the small girl trembling in her room to be personally directed at her. Unwilling to reveal her fear to her parents, JJ curled on her bed, trying in vain to block out the sounds of the heavens splitting and the wind lashing the sides of her house. Rain pelted the windows, seemingly furious at being shut out, and the walls suddenly appeared scant protection against the anger of the roaring monster outside.

As they inevitably do however, the storm  _did_ end, and when it was finally over, JJ forced herself from her bed and looked outside.

She still remembers the soft awe that struck her at the sight beyond her window.

Where normally the lights from the mill and the town muddied the sky and robbed the stars of their place, that night the glittering pin pricks of light shone unsullied in the night sky, luring a young girl out of her house.

JJ remembers stepping off the porch and onto rain soaked grass, the aftertaste of the storm's power still hanging in the air, but no longer something to be feared.

Darkness surrounded her gently; a darkness so complete that it seemed as if a velvet blanket had been draped over the world. Head tipped back and mouth left open, she lost herself in the sky, forgetting the storm, forgetting that her parents would be mad at her for sneaking out, forgetting even to breathe.

That night, a young JJ looked at the stars and her eyes feasted on their brilliance, breath scant in her lungs while her heart filled, bursting with some great emotion she couldn't - at that age - name or understand. Like some heavenly note had been struck inside her, JJ shivered, and in that moment, she was overcome with the desire to reach up and hold those stars in her hand. It didn't matter that she  _knew_ those twinkling diamonds were distant suns often long dead by the time their light reached Earth; for one fraction of one second, her heart overrode her mind, and in that tiny sliver of eternity, she  _believed_  it possible.

The belief, of course, was fragile, and between one second and the next it shattered, a delicate glass bobble finally handled too roughly. As the shards fell away and JJ lowered her hand however, she felt no disappointment and the awe and wonder of that moment stayed with her: a tiny, treasured memory she held onto for years.

* * *

 

Like most memories from childhood however, painful or otherwise, it eventually fades, the colors of the stars bleeding away and the velvet darkness bleaching and tattering.

Until the team works a case in Kansas, and one night a massive thunderstorm hits the city. As it rages, JJ stands at the window of her hotel room, the merest hint of a smile gracing her lips as she’s drawn back to that storm of her childhood.

As if the memory is a cue, the lights in her hotel room flicker and die and JJ watches the stain of the city's light outside her window vanish, the darkness rushing in to fill its place. In the sudden silence left in the absence of the air conditioning, JJ watches the storm move away, flashes of lightning dying to nothing and wind calming. The last drops of rain fall sullenly, abandoned by the clouds that now move steadily east, revealing a night sky washed clean and a brilliant, gibbous moon.

The sight kindles a deep longing, and without hesitation JJ opens her door and steps out into the heavy warmth of the wet night. Closing her eyes she draws a long breath, still able to taste the storm on the air, metallic and alive.

Moving to the railing, however, JJ discovers she isn't alone.

The light of the moon dances across Emily's face, shading in the lines of her nose and lips, washing her pale skin in silver where she stands with her hands resting on the iron railing, head tipped back and gaze fixed on the sky.

Despite the simplicity of the image, JJ finds herself entranced.

As if the moonlight is a guide, she traces the elegant sweep of Emily's cheekbones and the long line of her throat, lingering on the gentle rise and fall of her chest before glancing up again to follow the direction of Emily’s gaze.

JJ’s feet move without her conscious direction, the desire to simply be near her colleague, her friend and the woman who was rapidly becoming more than either of those labels could encompass pulling her body to stand at the railing with a force as subtle and powerful as gravity.

Emily turns and look at her, and with a flight of fancy reminiscent of a little girl with her fingertips pressed against a window, JJ imagines for just an instant, she can see the velvet night and the diamond stars reflected in those fathomless eyes. Maybe its something of the storm washing away the last of the dust that faded the colors of her memory, but as JJ looks at Emily looking back at her, the wonder and awe of the little girl who stood outside her childhood house and reached for the stars pushes up from her lungs until she forgets to breathe.

Emily does that, Emily makes her feel like truly anything is possible and the heavens are reachable; knowledge and distance and rationality transcended for one instant, by beautiful, fragile, belief.

It’s in that moment of quiet clarity JJ realizes that, for some time, she hasn't needed to look up to the sky to feel that perfect moment of awe and belief – it’s been right here in front of her, every time she looks at Emily. Every time their hands brush, or Emily trails her fingers along JJ's sleeve. It’s there every time that smooth, rich voice changes pitch ever so subtly, letting JJ know Emily’s words were only for her, even in a crowd of people. And most especially, it’s there on those rare occasions JJ is treated to that brilliant smile, a smile seldom - if ever - directed at anyone else.

For a moment neither woman moves, two figures seemingly frozen outside of time until some quiet accord is reached. Still holding her gaze, Emily carefully shifts her hand to cover JJ's where it rests on the cool, damp metal of the railing, a silent question asked and answered only in the space between their bodies.

The moon is a silent sentinel and the night deepens and on a darkened balcony, two women stand together and watch the stars.

 

tbc


	3. Trust

**Trust**

If Belief was the most unstable of the elements, then Trust, JJ comes to believe, is the rarest. Brittle and complicated, trust doesn’t occur naturally, it has to be built, earned through a thousand moments both great and small. The soft touch, the shared look, the perfect word spoken into an empty silence that echoes in the memory, each reverberation striking a cord somewhere deep within a wary heart. Each of these leaves an imprint, a tiny trace of  _something_ that accumulates, like the dust from a butterfly's wings, until time and experience and knowledge somehow strengthens and cements it into a connection - a bridge upon which something  _more_  is created, something lasting and powerful and beautiful.

In retrospect, JJ realizes it’s unsurprising that she trusts Emily. Emily Prentiss is simply the kind of woman that it’s safe to have faith in.  JJ has a hard time imagining Emily ever letting anyone down, such is her nature and the aura she so effortlessly projects. Time and time again, JJ watches as grieving families, victims, even criminals place their trust in Emily. Each does so for different reasons – justice, solace, understanding – but each time they do, it adds a little a little more weight to the burdens already resting on those slender shoulders. And yet, as JJ noted long ago, Emily Prentiss never flinches.

No, trusting Emily isn’t a surprise. What JJ marvels at is the evidence of Emily's trust in  _her_. For all her compassion and support and quiet empathy, Emily isn’t a woman who trusts easily. There are moments that JJ imagines she can almost  _see_ the armor the other woman built for herself. Shining and well kept, it’s heavily scarred and oft repaired, an armor of intellect and professionalism and iron control. An armor forged, JJ hypothesizes, from years of Ambassador Prentiss' stern example and living in a world where a single wrong look, an unplanned smile or misinterpreted gesture could lead to disaster. It’s an armor that protects a soul and a heart JJ comes to realize are more fragile than most would believe.

JJ knows how hard it is to build trust, especially in their world. Their lives - their everyday existence - are founded upon witnessing and understanding all the deeds that shatter trust, families. Lives.

It’s for this reason that JJ almost misses it. Struggling not to lose herself among the deaths, the fear, the pain of those still alive, she almost misses those first, fragile moments, almost doesn't hear those soft, weighted words. Almost doesn't see that the look in Emily's eyes warms around her, that some slight layer of steel pulls back to give JJ a glimpse of the soul shining tentatively behind the curve of dark lashes.

The realization shocks her at first, makes her hesitate. Like a child held in rapture at the sight of a baby animal, she trembles if she thinks about it too much. Even more so because JJ knows how much it costs Emily – how rare and precious that trust truly is. The trust of an innocent is a powerful thing, but the trust of someone who carries the scars of betrayal and disappointment and rejection, of dozens of life's other tragedies, that trust is a humbling weight. There’s a part of JJ that momentarily balks at the thought of such a burden, afraid she’s unworthy to carry it, afraid she might shatter that fragile gift.

Somehow though, while her head is busy with surviving, the weight of that responsibility gets picked up, settling over her heart not as a hindrance, but with the familiar, comfortable heft of a down blanket or a favored winter coat, somehow protective and strengthening, and becomes a part of her.

It’s that weight, that need to protect the tentative connection that’s formed between them that leads JJ to Emily's door that night.

* * *

 

Today marks the second time that Ambassador Prentiss has made an appearance at the BAU. The first time, JJ hadn't yet been able to read the tiny, nearly invisible signs of distress in Emily. That morning, however, when Emily's eyes meet JJ's across the bullpen, JJ can see all too clearly the effect that the mother has on the daughter.

The Ambassador doesn’t stayed long, but it’s obvious that she stays long enough. Though JJ doubts the others notice anything untoward, she can easily see the wounds Emily carries in the wake of the surprise visit.

A part of JJ desperately wants to reach out Emily, but she holds back, unsure of exactly how to do so. Their connection is too new, the trust still fragile enough that a wrong word or move can break it. It hurts to stay silent but every time she looks at Emily and sees the rigid line of her jaw and the tension of her shoulders, JJ knows its better to stay away and let Emily cope as she always has.

 Until now.

* * *

 

She still isn't sure, but as her knuckles meet the smooth, hard surface of Emily's door, JJ understands that whatever happens, her need to affirm Emily's trust in her dictates only one direction - forward.

The door swings open and JJ glimpses surprise and the merest hint of pleasure that flicker across Emily's features before being carefully schooled away, buried under the familiar mask of polite curiosity. JJ’s own lips twitch in what might be a smile if the moment were permissible. Emily’s poise is predictable and somehow, endearing.

"JJ, I wasn't expecting you," which is Emily Prentiss for 'what the hell are you doing on my doorstep?' JJ can read that easily enough. For a moment, however, she hesitates. The smooth, rich tones of Emily's voice hold only confusion not irritation at the interruption, but JJ is all too aware of the weight her next words might carry - the next moment one on which all those following will rest. JJ knows this. She knew it the entire drive over here and for some time before that. She knew it standing in her too quiet apartment, imagining Emily doing the same thing and finding the idea unsettling.

What she says now will shape the structure of what comes next. The wrong word and their fragile trust might snap, the right and the possibilities are unknown and wonderful. JJ had mulled over what to say at this moment, running through a dozen different scenarios. She discarded them all, and now, standing here, noticing the way the amber hall light warms Emily's eyes, she’s glad.

Trust can only be built upon truth.

"I wanted to see how you were doing. I know it must be difficult to have your mother show up like that."

JJ sees the decision being made in Emily's mind, the genuine – if weak – smile all the welcome JJ could have hoped for as Emily steps back, beckoning her in. As the door shuts behind her and JJ toes off her shoes, Emily’s fingertips brush her elbow and JJ knows she made the right choice.

* * *

 

"Apparently Grand Pierre left some things for me. His journals. Mother thought they should be donated to the university library of some friend of hers. I disagreed." There’s heavy bitterness in Emily's voice, but JJ stays silent, sensing the time isn't right for her to speak yet.

They’re seated on Emily's couch looking out over the lighted, marble and electric sculptures of the Capitol. At the moment however, both women are blind to the luminescent beauty in the distance. Emily's focus is turned inward, and JJ's is consumed by her.

Despite earlier doubts, the atmosphere between them is comfortable, the slow tides of emotion and memory somehow tame within the shared space. They sit close though not touching. Emily's legs are curled beneath her where she’s tucked herself into the corner of the leather sofa and JJ leans against the plush back, knee just inches from Emily's. A bottle of wine is open on the coffee table, mostly empty, and JJ absently swirls the liquid in her glass, a tiny, inner restlessness needing some small outlet. Emily's glass is empty and she toys with it, watching the last stain of deep red against the clear crystal like it might hold some hidden truth.

The silence stretches lazily for a moment before Emily speaks again, her voice and gaze far away. "It was so peaceful there." The words are so soft that at first JJ strains to catch them, and even then isn't sure of their meaning.

"He never expected me to be anything but myself. I think… sometimes I think that those summers were the first time in my life someone loved me for who I really was."

As the words and the emotions behind them suddenly come into focus, something in JJ’s heart tears. A part of her aches for the pain of a young Emily, the young girl that she could easily imagine – so proper, so bent on trying to live up to her mother's unending expectations - and a part of her aches for the woman who still carries that pain.

Emily's voice trails off and JJ watches the conflict play out in the shadows of the past that darken her eyes. These are old hurts torn bloody all over again and JJ stays silent as Emily struggles for control against the bittersweet memories. It pains her to see the Emily like this but even now JJ marvels the gift she’s being given as Emily allows her rare witness to her emotions.

In one tiny stretching of a second, JJ realizes in the sudden, all-encompassing way that the heart occasionally has when it finally manages to make itself heard, that she’s being given a keystone. Her hands grasp a moment that, despite its apparent simplicity, holds the strength to change the direction and shape of their relationship, for better or worse, from this instant on.

JJ can stand by, offering her silent support and maintaining the equilibrium they’ve built, or, as she had decided earlier that night while standing on the other side of Emily's door, she can move forward. JJ feels the choice, sees the delicate scales balanced inside her mind and the options written clearly before her. They’re inscribed in the polished mahogany of Emily's eyes and the wine stained red of her lips, in the rich tones of her voice and the brilliance of her smile, and in the thousands of other things JJ has come to love about the woman sitting in front of her.

Reaching out cautiously, JJ rests her hand over Emily's, grasping it gently, recalling a similar gesture given to her in the cold waiting room of a hospital. Then, as now, there are no words but the bloom of surprise, gratitude and something richer and deeper on Emily's face says clearly they aren't needed.

"Thank you,” Emily says softly, her fingers squeezing JJ’s.  Something clicks into place between them then – as fine as the dust from a butterfly's wings but like that shimmery powder, JJ knows it will remain long after the moment itself had flown.

"Tell me about your grandfather," she replies just as softly. She sees the flash of surprise on Emily’s face before full lips tilt upward in a hint of a smile.

Emily pauses for a moment, obviously searching for a starting point. JJ knows she’s found it when those full lips stretch into a brighter smile.

"It took me months that first summer to realize he didn't have an agenda, that he didn't expect me to be perfect. I honestly had no idea what to do…"

Propping her cheek on her fist, JJ slowly strokes the skin of Emily's palm, taking pleasure in the tactile evidence of their connection. She listens to the measured cadence of Emily's voice, lets herself relax into the shared warmth of their entwined hands. It’s a rare, quiet, almost intimate moment and JJ savors every second.

Because Trust, despite being the rarest of elements, is all the more beautiful for being so. 

 

tbc


	4. Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic (and much of my Criminal Minds writing) owes its existence to Fewthistle. <3

**Want**

If Trust is the rarest and most precious of emotional elements, then Want, JJ decides, is the most common and often the cheapest, both in occurrence and nature. The forms of want are many and varied, it comes in a thousand different shades and purities, in an infinite variety of combinations and strengths.

Mostly, wants are small and harmless, evident in the familiar craving for chocolate at the end of the long day and the sluggish slapping of the snooze button just one more time on a cold morning. Want is the basis of a multitude of useless, insignificant choices – this sweater or that flavor of coffee – that people think little about each day, even as they make them.

But want can also be petty and cruel, dirty and shameful. There are so many wants never shown the light of day. Instead they’re buried, ignored, kept locked away in the dark, dingy places of hearts, covered over with the flaking spackle of civility and respectability. There are also wants that  _should_ never see the light of day, the kinds of wants that keep divorce attorneys and psychologists and drug dealers employed.

Want can be pure, JJ believes. Like the transformation of carbon into diamonds by heat, time, and pressure, sometimes want – under precisely the correct circumstances – can be transformed into a thing of exquisite beauty and universal awe. Want can become passion and drive and love. The desire for freedom, the wish to better the lives of others, the need to help those in pain, the love of a parent for a child that leads them to sacrifice everything for that child's safety and the selfless love of one person for another, these forms of want are the most precious. They draw others to admire them and to want them for themselves, and often, to fail to in obtaining them.

Because ultimately the process - the evolution of want - is flawed. The material is either too weak or the precise conditions aren't met, or another element – usually fear – is introduced and the want loses its purity, becoming muddied and weak. So many times the result of the process isn’t diamonds but merely dirty, clinging coal.

There are times JJ imagines she can see the filthy dust of mutated want still lingering on the hands and souls and clouding the eyes of the Unsubs they catch.

JJ has known want all her life, she’s only human after all. For the most part, her desires have always been simple and small – food, shelter, the love and respect of family and friends, career goals, things the importance of which waxes and wanes little. She’s wanted other people before – though rarely – and always the want is safe, careful, easily controllable and as like what she now feels for Emily as a candle is to a summer wildfire.

Thick, deep and consuming, JJ's desire for Emily grows multihued and complex. Like the facets of a newly cut diamond, it glitters with a thousand tiny points of light and color. And like the most valuable of those gems in the hands of a master jeweler, each facet is shaped slowly, painstakingly revealing the radiance and light that already exists within.

Somehow, between the increasing warmth of the looks that pass between them and the pressure of their jobs, between time spent in heated pursuit of the darkest aspects of human nature and time sharing healing, restful moments in each other's quiet presence, JJ's feelings for Emily coalesce, transforming until they became achingly, blindingly clear to her.

Jennifer Jareau wants Emily Prentiss. Badly.

She doesn’t want Emily with just her mind, or even just her heart. JJ wants Emily with every fiber of her being, desire like a code stamped over and over in her DNA until every cell in her body attunes to Emily's presence. So much so that simply being  _near_ Emily eases something in her, no matter how dark the case or how tangled her emotions. Conversely, since the hours spent that night in Emily’s apartment doing nothing more than talking about their pasts, connected only by the casual touch of hands or the brush of cotton clad knees, JJ feels the absence of that presence with a keening, almost physical ache.

JJ’s never experienced anything like this. That it’s seemingly only growing stronger should be a source of concern for her. She should be terrified of the way her reactions to Emily grow more instinctive and less rational, and yet…

And yet she can't seem to stop the almost giddy rush of pleasure at the thought of time spent in Emily's company. She can't change the unshakable belief in the things that seem possible when Emily touches her, even if that touch is nothing more than the weight of her fingertips on JJ’s arm. And she most certainly can't fathom shattering the trust that’s grown between them.

The erosion of JJ’s will is a physical thing, each second spent in Emily’s presence wearing at the last vestiges of control and logic, at that last, sharp sliver of fear that said 'this is too good to be true,' until it falls away, blunted and harmless in the wake of overwhelming want.

She knows it’s only a matter of time before she gives in.

_And tonight isn't going to help any._

Tonight the annual awards banquet for the Bureau will be held. Tonight is supposed to be a night of gratification, a night of recognition and reward, a night to fulfill so many wants. All but the one Jennifer Jareau truly cares about because she knows, with absolute certainty, that seeing Emily tonight in what her mind happily fantasizes will be a dangerously beautiful dress – that sipping slightly flat champagne and making small talk, being forced to look, but not touch the woman who’s come to mean so much – is going to be the worst kind of agony.

The kind of agony that can only come from being shown, but ultimately denied, what the heart truly wants.

Because JJ also knows that for all their trust, for all that Emily makes her feel things that ought to be forbidden, for all that she wants to see those same feelings reflected back at her from dark eyes, the risk – the fear of shattering the trust between them – is too great. Its one fear JJ doesn’t know how to overcome.

Still, when her hands reach for her favorite outfit from the closet – the one with the white silk tuxedo shirt that sets off the honeyed tones in her skin with the long black skirt that hugs just tight enough and has a slit just high enough to ride the line of propriety –  she doesn’t change her mind.

* * *

 

The ceremony manages to be worse than JJ imagined. Not because her colleagues (not her 'family' in the BAU, but the other agents) are even more insipid, nor because the champagne is flatter (though that doesn't stop her from having a second glass). It’s not because the speeches seem longer and duller, or the eyes of people denied commendations seem emptier.

No, the ceremony is excruciating because of that damn dress.

Among the monochromatic black and white tuxedos and washed out pale shades of most of the women's dresses, Emily stands out like a scarlet jay among crows. Her dress isn't just red, its _blood_ red. Deep and rich, the color of life and passion and promise. It’s strapless and partly backless, clinging to Emily's body in ways that set JJ’s skin blushing and make it nearly impossible to concentrate on what’s going on around her.

They’re separated now by the crowds of people, but JJ catches glimpses of Emily all night. A smile here, a sliver of crimson silk there, and more than once, a look that makes the distance between them insignificant. A look that has JJ searching for more champagne to wet a suddenly dry throat. A look that she would give anything to understand completely.

How she gets through the awards she’s never quite sure, but the next thing JJ is aware of is having her internal debate about whether leaving now is a strategic retreat or cowardice interrupted by Emily's sudden appearance at her side.

They’re standing just apart from the main crowds in a small bit of quieter space near the exit, leaving JJ with no one to turn to for a distraction and she can’t decide if she’s elated or should just kick herself for carelessness.

Unsure of herself, with her emotions and body so off balance and the slight heat of the alcohol not helping any, JJ’s at a loss for words. She feels like a damn teenager and is just working her way toward indignation at the fact when Emily breaks the awkward silence.

"You look beautiful tonight," she says softly, and the timbre of her voice winds its way not just to JJ's ears, but down her spine.

Normally JJ would smile, laugh even, shrugging away the words like one might be rid a dusting of snow, but something in the low richness of Emily's voice and the darkness of her eyes stops JJ's automatic reaction, stilling the words in her throat so that what comes out is far different.

"So do you," she manages, inwardly cursing the rawness of her voice.

Busy mentally berating herself for being a mess, JJ almost misses what happens next. Almost. Only her inability to look away from those pretty dark eyes saved her but JJ will never feel weak again for that because she _is_ looking, and because she’s looking, she sees what she only counted on dreaming about.

She sees _want_ on Emily’s face.

"You know," Emily replies carefully, as if testing unknown waters. "I have muchbetter champagne back at my apartment. What do you say we ditch this place?"

It’s a forgone conclusion but JJ smiles anyway as she nods at what – under other circumstances – could be interpreted as a simple reprieve from a boring party offered by one friend to another. With the weight of want behind it, though, that request becomes so, so much more.

* * *

 

To her credit, Emily does really have good champagne. They even open it when they arrive.

The soft pop of a cork reaches JJ where she stands at the massive panes of glass overlooking the Capitol. The sound is followed by the rush of liquid into crystal and the solid thunk of a bottle on marble. JJ keeps her gaze deliberately forward, but that doesn’t stop her focus from straying to the reflection of Emily overlaying the lights of the city, a double exposure in living color that moves closer. Champagne flutes in hand, that reflection approaches until the real woman stands next to JJ, flesh and blood and scent so much better than the picture in the cold glass.

Emily hands JJ one of the glasses and their fingers brush in the process. JJ swallows, warmth and unspoken promise thrilling across her skin even from that tiny, innocent touch. There is a precipice approaching, a pivotal point that occurs in all moments like these where the decision has to be made – go forward, or turn away.

JJ watches Emily raise the flute to her lips, clear golden liquid against the crimson of her lipstick. The sight is a catalyst. JJ wants to feel those lips herself. She wants to taste Emily, to trace her tongue across the delicate skin of her throat and feel the pulse of Emily’s heartbeat there. She wants to hear Emily, to learn what makes her cry out and the timbre of her voice unstrung in passion. Most clearly though, JJ wants to touch Emily, to strip away the practiced mask of control and see the woman beneath once and for all, not just in small glimpses or infrequent unguarded moments, but in complete surrender and freedom.

And while she’s thinking about all the things she wants, Emily puts down her glass, removes JJ's from her unresisting grasp and steps close. JJ can feel the heat of the other woman, like a fine current just at the edge of her perception, the warning before flesh touches electricity. Lashes flutter at the delicate scent Emily wears and the sheer weight of desire that washes through her.

Held willing prisoner by the moment, JJ almost refuses when warm hands cup her cheeks and a throaty voice pleads,

"JJ, open your eyes,"

It’s only with a great deal of effort that she finds she can comply.

Emily looks like she’s the verge of speaking, but something shatters inside JJ when she sees in Emily's eyes her own want, reflected perfectly back to her.

Sliding her hands around silk covered curves, JJ pulls Emily close and kisses her.

It’s intended as a gentle kiss, a testing and a reaffirmation and a promise of more to come. It’s all those things, and much, much more.

So long has JJ wanted Emily, such is the nature and measure of that want, that the desire becomes almost a living thing between them. JJ's mouth opens and Emily immediately responds, slick and warm and welcoming. Emily tastes like champagne and the skin of her back under JJ’s hands is warm, softer than the satin of her dress. Emily’s fingers slip down, over JJ’s throat, trailing along her shoulders and then slender arms wrap around JJ’s waist, pulling her tightly to Emily. One of them makes a noise in the back of her throat. JJ honestly doesn’t know if its her. She can’t really find it in her to give a damn either way.

The ragged notes of their breathing are the only sound in condo when they ease away from each other. Some last, tiny voice in JJ screams that they should slow down, that they should take this slow, but then Emily’s slipping her  hands under JJ’s shirt, caressing sensitive skin, pressing her lips to JJ’s  neck and that voice dies a much celebrated death.

JJ's skin burns, Emily’s touch like sunlight slipping into her blood, making muscles weak and bones unsteady. It’s as if every cell in her body hums at Emily's touch, singing in perfect harmony to an ancient, powerful note struck long ago. JJ’s struggles to pull air into her lungs but breathing no longer seems much of a priority. All she knows, all she  _wants_ to know, is the feeling of Emily against her. In her.

The stairs are the only thing that makes them part and they clasp hands anyway, Emily’s fingers sure and steady in JJ’s grasp until they stand in Emily's bedroom. Forcing herself to slow, JJ's hands tremble as she pulls down the zipper on that damn dress. She’s not alone apparently as Emily fumbles slightly with the buttons on JJ’s blouse.

They’re silent as fabric falls away to form colorful puddles of silk on the carpet. No words are needed as they reach for each other. For all that JJ’s life is bounded by words and language, everything she wants to say now can only be spoken by the touch of hands and lips and the press of soft, warm skin. What she feels is evident in every kiss, in the stroke of hands and the tiny sounds of pleasure and need and discovery. Its proof is the arch of Emily’s spine when JJ cups her breasts, lowering her mouth to tease and suck hardened nipples, in the way JJ willingly opens to Emily's touch, unafraid and eager as gentle fingers press into slick, heated flesh. It’s affirmed in the ragged cry of Emily’s name pulled from JJ’s mouth as her body clenches around Emily’s fingers and cemented by the taste of JJ on Emily’s lips as they kiss, hard and deep and not even close to satisfied yet.

Later, as two heartbeats slow and breathing evens out, with the night readying itself to give way to a new day, Emily doesn’t let go and JJ lets herself be held close, only the differing shades of their skin – honeyed to alabaster – giving away where one ends and the other begins. JJ's head rests on Emily's shoulder and idle fingertips trail meaningless patterns on Emily’s chest while the steady beat of her heartbeat lulls JJ into something close to sleep.  

She has no idea what tomorrow will bring, she and Emily haven’t spoken beyond the words gasped in passion. They probably need to talk about their jobs, about the team, about all the things that could keep them apart. In her imagination though, JJ sees only the shining diamond that her want for Emily became. Overcoming Fear and strengthened by her own Belief and their Trust, against all odds, JJ thinks that her Want for Emily may have somehow been transformed into Love.  The pragmatist in her knows that there is no guarantee this will last – that she and Emily are as imperfect and flawed as anyone and they face so much danger in their lives loss is an inescapable specter. And yet JJ can’t bring herself to regret a single moment that led  her here and she has no intention of walking away unless Emily demands it.

As if in response to her thoughts, the slim arms around her shoulders tighten and gentle lips press against the crown of JJ’s head. It’s enough. For now, it’s enough. As JJ closes her eyes and surrenders to sleep, somewhere in the back of her mind a little  girl sitting in a classroom smiles in satisfaction.

Fin


End file.
